


home ground

by lynne_monstr



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe where the Shadowhunters and the warlocks have been at war, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 21:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20646026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: Magnus brings his glass of champagne to his lips, careful not to take a sip. The war with the Nephilim is over but he wouldn’t put it past them to poison the drinks. It would hardly be the first time.





	home ground

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [sh_ficletinstruments](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/sh_ficletinstruments) collection. 

> **Prompt:**  
Person A is trying to maneuver through a crowd with a drink, but when someone bumps into them they lose their balance and spill their drink all over person B.

Magnus brings his glass of champagne to his lips, careful not to take a sip. The war with the Nephilim is over but he wouldn’t put it past them to poison the drinks. It would hardly be the first time. Around him, the reception hall gleams with gold and surprisingly, the occasional touch of warlock blue among the finery.

Something in his throat tightens that he doesn’t dare call hope.

“Can you believe they let this filth in our Institute?” Two Shadowhunters walk past on their way to the canapes, their voices deliberately loud enough to carry.

Magnus' jaw clenches to keep from lashing out. He’d lobbied the council too hard for his place in tonight’s treaty signing to ruin it for an insult he’s heard a thousand times.

Air, he needs fresh air.

Whirling in place, he strides towards the exit. And slams into a wall of muscle. The untouched champagne in his glass sloshes over and to his utter mortification, drenches the jacket of the Shadowhunter he knocked into. He feels fifty years old again, a child coming into his power rather than the High Warlock he is.

The man laughs, the warmth of it so unexpected that Magnus’ gaze snaps up. His breath catches in his throat. The man is beautiful. Tall and well-built, with kind eyes and a plush, kissable mouth.

He’s also speaking. “…heard what they said. You have my personal apologies, High Warlock Bane.”

“You know who I am?”

“I’d be a poor leader if I didn’t.” He extends his hand. “Alec Lightwood, Head of the—”

“New York Institute," Magnus finishes. "I know who you are. I’d be a poor leader if I didn’t.” His smile as he mimics Alec's words comes out softer than he intended.

The words aren't a lie. The formalwear hadn't helped, but he recognizes the man he spent countless hours plotting to assassinate. Lightwood had been too well defended to move against, and Magnus is suddenly, surprisingly grateful for it. However, he still hasn’t righted his own terrible faux pas and so he gestures to Alec’s sodden tuxedo. “May I? If you can stomach a bit of warlock magic.”

In all honesty, he expects this Shadowhunter to decline. Likely with a sneer and snide comment, regardless of his earlier lip service. But he doesn’t. He merely inclines his head. “I’d appreciate that.”

A spark jolts between them as Magnus runs a finger down Alec’s lapel, leaving clean fabric in its wake. He doesn’t need to be a powerful warlock to know this particular spark has nothing to do with magic.

“So,” he says, when it’s finally time to adjourn to the treaty room. “How many assassinations did you plain against me?”

Alec’s eyebrows shoot up, adorably so. “About as many as you did for me, I’d wager.”

Magnus laughs, his first genuine laugh since stepping foot in this place. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Alec’s grin is bright, and Magnus begins to believe in peace.


End file.
